


Emotion And Peace

by Pseudonymoose



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin Skywalker Has Issues, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Anakin Skywalker, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Protective Anakin Skywalker, Protective Obi-Wan Kenobi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29923389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pseudonymoose/pseuds/Pseudonymoose
Summary: The fresh scar burning on Anakin's face is nothing compared to the storm inside his head, but Obi-Wan needs him to be strong.Anakin doesn't think that he is strong enough. Obi-Wan disagrees, and offers his hand.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 22
Kudos: 126





	Emotion And Peace

“You’re a fool, Master,” Anakin said, kicking the door open with his foot. “And you’re heavy.”

He felt Obi-Wan redistribute his weight, leaning less on the arm around Anakin’s shoulders. Guilt mixed with gratitude, and Anakin got them through the doorway, using the force to turn on the lights. Obi-Wan said nothing.

“Not going to scold me for inappropriate use of the force?” Anakin quipped. “Maybe you’re not quite so much of a fool as I thought. I apologise.”

“Do shut up, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said wearily.

Anakin complied, for now.

The guest suite they had been given by Governor Orth was large, with two bedrooms connected to a sitting room. Tall windows dominated the far wall, offering a view of the sea during the daytime. Night had fallen whilst they had been trapped in the palace’s small infirmary. The world beyond their balcony was a dark void that the light of the chandeliers could not touch.

Anakin helped Obi-Wan hobble to one of the plush sofas in the middle of the room. Obi-Wan sank into the cushions with a sigh and disentangled himself from Anakin. The back of Anakin’s neck suddenly felt cold.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, deflating.

“I’m not done,” Anakin told him. He plucked a cushion from the other sofa and tossed it in his hands, plumping it the way he had seen Padmé do in her senatorial apartment. “Look away, Master; I’m about to abuse the force again.”

Obi-Wan muttered something unintelligible. Anakin ignored him, already concentrating on force-pushing the low table in the centre of the room closer to Obi-Wan. Satisfied, he placed his cushion on the table and crouched, reaching for Obi-Wan’s right leg.

“May I?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

Very carefully, Anakin placed his hands on the plasticast and lifted Obi-Wan’s leg up onto the table, not letting go until his ankle was comfortably supported by the cushion.

“How’s that?” he asked.

Obi-Wan grimaced and shifted a little in his seat. “That will do nicely. Thank you, Padawan.”

“Not your Padawan,” Anakin said automatically.

Obi-Wan looked up from his plastered limb and affixed Anakin with a look that was soft, but otherwise unreadable. “No. You’re not.” He blinked, and whatever had been there was gone. “My apologies, Knight Skywalker.”

Anakin shook his head. “If you’re going to apologise for something, apologise for what happened back there. What were you thinking?”

“Isn’t that usually my line?”

“Don’t be glib,” Anakin said. He considered sitting on the sofa, but feared jostling Obi-Wan. The man was in enough pain as it was. “This is serious.”

Obi-Wan offered him the ghost of a smile. “Who put you on the Council?”

“Obi-Wan, you could have been killed.” Anakin crossed his arms. “What would I have done then?”

It was a valid question, on so many different levels. Losing his Master mere months after being knighted was an unimaginable prospect, to say nothing of specifically losing _Obi-Wan_.

“You would have contacted the Council, informed them of the situation, and continued the mission,” Obi-Wan said passively.

He had forgotten, for a moment, that Obi-Wan did not have to imagine.

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” Obi-Wan said. “I am sorry, Anakin.” He looked down at his lap. “I do understand how you feel. You’re right. I was a fool.”

“At least you admit it.”

Anakin’s anger evaporated, leaving him with exhaustion. He settled cross-legged in the small space between the sofa and the table. The mental lie of having to be close in case Obi-Wan needed anything was easier than either of the truths—that Anakin needed to be near him, and that Obi-Wan needed his protection.

Somewhere, out in the depths of the night, was a Separatist assassin. A former Jedi, one who had fallen to the dark side and turned her back on the light. That alone had been enough to give Anakin nightmares on the journey from Coruscant, visions of sand and rage and ultimate rejection that had jolted him awake, fist in his mouth.

Asajj Ventress was proving to be a formidable opponent, worthy of the two Jedi the Council had seen fit to send. They had been here for a week and faced her once, in a forest clearing some miles from the palace. Anakin was an accomplished duellist, and Obi-Wan’s mastery of Soresu was unmatched, but Ventress had treated them like playthings in a game of her own design. That was the power of the dark side, the same power that had let Count Dooku take Anakin’s arm and nearly Obi-Wan’s life. Asajj Ventress was another reminder that Anakin had to get stronger.

Surprisingly, Ventress was not the reason Obi-Wan had ended up in a medical bay. She had vanished after their fight, and they had been tracking her. The Council had tasked them with bringing her in if they could, ending her if they had to, and at the very least, finding out what she was doing on Pijal. One measly fight hadn’t been enough for that, and that’s how Anakin and Obi-Wan had come to be on the cliffs above the city long before dawn, following a tenuous lead. That’s how Obi-Wan had seen something suspicious in the distance, stepped on an overhang that was obviously very unstable, and fallen thirty feet onto a ledge.

Much later, in the infirmary, once Obi-Wan’s fractured tibia had been reset, Anakin had asked him why he hadn’t slowed his descent with the force. Apparently, Obi-Wan had been so focused on whatever was out to sea (a fishing boat, it had transpired), that he hadn’t thought of it.

Anakin had been fuming.

“You know Ventress is still out there, right?” he said now, propping his left elbow on the sofa and resting his head on his hand.

“I hadn’t forgotten,” Obi-Wan said. “Those painkillers weren’t quite strong enough for that.”

Oh, yes. How terrible of Anakin to force his Master— _former_ Master—to let Orth’s personal healer give him something for the pain of a broken leg.

Anakin decided to pretend he hadn’t heard. “What are we going to do about her? Now, I mean. You can’t fight with your leg in plaster.”

“I am aware of that,” Obi-Wan said bitterly. “I suppose we’ll have to hope that the Council isn’t too aggrieved that we failed the mission, and that Ventress hasn’t been up to anything overly nefarious.”

Wait.

“Failed the mission?” They were still here, Ventress was still here, still on Pijal; they could still… Ah. “We’re going back to Coruscant, aren’t we?”

Resignation. Disappointment, but also relief. Obi-Wan would be in no danger at the Temple. He could get the rest he needed, and there would be others around to help Anakin make sure he got it.

“I will contact the Council in the morning and inform them of the situation,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin should have been angry that Obi-Wan had made this decision unilaterally, but he wasn’t. He agreed. Obi-Wan was in no condition to do anything, and Anakin couldn’t go after Ventress on his own. He would be leaving Obi-Wan defenceless, and Anakin didn’t want to contemplate what would transpire if anything happened to Obi-Wan. He would probably make Ventress’s fall look like a trip.

The casualness of the thought unnerved him. He floundered, and fought to direct his attention back on Obi-Wan.

Protecting Obi-Wan. That was his mission now. It always would be. It was far too late to be worrying about attachments, too late to prevent one. Unless Anakin wanted to be the one hunted by Jedi, he would have to make sure that nothing ever happened to Obi-Wan.

“Are you alright with that?” Obi-Wan’s voice released Anakin from the deep well of his thoughts. “I know that we should have discussed it, and we can discuss it, of course; but I really don’t see another way forward. I can’t go after Ventress like this, and I certainly won’t condone you haring off on your own.” He frowned. “That would be much too dangerous.”

“It’s fine.” Anakin took a steadying breath and tried to smile. “I agree. We’ve pretty much exhausted all of our leads, anyway. I don’t see the point in staying, however generous the hospitality.”

Some years ago, when Obi-Wan was still a Padawan, he had travelled to Pijal with Master Qui-Gon to oversee the dissolution of the Pijali monarchy. Obi-Wan had filled Anakin in on the details en route. The aging Governor Orth still held power, and had been nothing but courteous. She wanted Ventress off her world as much as the Jedi did.

“Then it’s settled,” Obi-Wan said.

He closed his eyes. Anakin took in the light bags beneath them, the way his recently shorn hair fell limply across his forehead. Mentally traced the curve of his jaw, the arc of his lips.

“I can feel you watching me,” Obi-Wan murmured.

Anakin quickly refocused his gaze on the rug. At such close proximity, he could see thin golden threads among the brown. “I was wondering if you needed anything, Master.”

“I’m not an invalid,” Obi-Wan protested.

“Actually…”

Obi-Wan huffed. “Alright. I take the point.”

Cool fingers touched Anakin’s wrist. He tensed.

“Why don’t you go to bed, Anakin?” Obi-Wan’s tone was that of a Master, of a guardian. “You’re exhausted.”

Anakin stood and crossed to a window. “I’m fine.” He could see nothing in the gloom, which didn’t help to settle him. “You’re the one who needs to rest.” A thought occurred, and he was ashamed it hadn’t sooner. “Do you want me to help you get to bed?”

Contemplative silence. Anakin turned back to the room. Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair, fingers falling into empty air where the length still caught him out. 

“I think I’d rather stay here for now, if that’s alright,” Obi-Wan said.

“Then I’m staying, too.” Anakin stalked to the sofa opposite Obi-Wan’s and flopped down upon it. He would have preferred to have his back up against a wall, but he didn’t think he could stand for long. He didn’t think Obi-Wan would let him, either.

“Don’t be absurd, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. “You barely slept last night.”

Anakin clenched his fists. He had thought he’d been quiet. He should have been quiet. “I slept fine.”

“There’s no need to be so defensive,” Obi-Wan said. “I’ve always known about the nightmares. After the last few months, I’m not surprised that they’re bothering you again.” His tone softened. “You ought to know that you can always come to me—”

“Please stop talking,” Anakin said. He leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

Thankfully, Obi-Wan stopped.

He did want to come to Obi-Wan, to share the burden of his nightmares the way that he used to, but he couldn’t. Obi-Wan could never know about what happened on Tatooine. Anakin wasn’t a Padawan anymore; Obi-Wan couldn’t excuse his actions, and Anakin couldn’t ask him to. There would be consequences, starting with Obi-Wan’s rejection. Anakin couldn’t live through that, even if he deserved it. He could take being rejected by Padmé, by the Council, by the Jedi, but not by Obi-Wan.

“I wish I knew how to help you,” Obi-Wan said quietly.

Anakin screwed up his eyes. The heel of his flesh hand felt damp.

This was not the time to break down. He had to be stronger.

“I’m fine,” he repeated. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

A single sob escaped Anakin’s throat. He concentrated on breathing, in and out, slow and measured.

“Anakin—”

“Don’t.”

He kept breathing.

He wasn’t fine. He hadn’t been fine since that first vision of his mother on the floor of a Tusken hut. Grief and guilt, Tatooine, Padmé, Geonosis, his arm—at times it all felt like a maelstrom, sucking him downwards, or a sandstorm, tearing him to shreds. The war was keeping him busy, keeping the storm away, but when he stopped, when there was nothing to do, nobody to fight, no quarry to chase, it damned near buried him.

Obi-Wan wanted to help. Anakin wished he could.

Gradually, Anakin recovered his wits. Obi-Wan was there. Obi-Wan needed him. Ventress could be near, and Anakin had to protect Obi-Wan.

He wiped his face and sat up. Obi-Wan stared at him. Anakin caught a glimpse of an expression he had never seen, something tortured and desperate, before it was wiped away. Obi-Wan was the picture of concerned calm once more, and Anakin wondered if he had imagined it.

“I won’t ask if you’re alright,” Obi-Wan said.

“Wise.” Anakin cleared his throat. “Sorry. Can we… ah; can we forget that ever happened?”

The balance of Obi-Wan’s face changed; more concern, less calm. “Anakin, I…”

“Just for now, then,” Anakin appealed. “Just until we get back to Coruscant.”

Once they returned to the Temple, Anakin was in no doubt that he would be given a new mission the moment he walked through the door. This was war. Jedi were needed. He was a Knight; there was no reason to keep him grounded just because his _former_ Master had been injured. They would send Anakin away, and by the time they met again, Obi-Wan might have forgotten the whole thing. If that was too much to hope for, then at least Anakin would gain time to think of some plausible lies to feed him. The prospect of being separated from Obi-Wan was horrific, but talking about the storm inside him, admitting its existence, would be worse.

“Very well,” Obi-Wan said. He would not forget.

Anakin nodded the thanks he could not bring himself to say, and dragged his attention back to the windows. He couldn’t feel anything amiss in the force, but that didn’t mean that they were safe.

“I’ll never be able to rest with you so on edge,” Obi-Wan said, not unkindly.

“Sorry, Master.”

“Save it.” Obi-Wan sighed. “Why don’t you go and clean up? Some hot water, a change of clothes… it might help,” he added delicately.

It did sound tempting. Everything ached, not just his muscles.

“Go,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin reached out further with the force, and still felt nothing untoward. Ten minutes, he decided. Ten minutes to put himself back together. “Okay.”

Obi-Wan smiled at him. It hurt.

Anakin got up and went down the adjoining hallway to his bedroom. Like the rest of the palace, it was decorated in a simplistic, homely style with hidden glints of opulence. He unclipped his lightsaber from his belt and left it on the bed, then stripped out of his robes, letting them fall in a puddle on the floor. There were towels on the top shelf of a wardrobe; he tied one around his waist and padded barefoot out to the shared bathroom at the very end of the hall.

The door had a bolt, but Anakin chose not to slide it across. Obi-Wan was the only one around, and he wouldn’t be walking in. Not that Anakin would mind if he did.

Groaning, Anakin removed the towel and draped it over a rail. There was an oddly shaped showerhead above the large granite bathtub. Anakin got in and turned on the water.

It felt good. He fiddled with the chrome control until he found the perfect temperature, then stood and let the warm torrent wash over him. Obi-Wan was right. This helped.

Alone, with water streaming down his skin and pattering on the stone at his feet, Anakin let himself cry.

There was so much. Too much. He had tried to release his feelings to the force, like Obi-Wan had taught him, but it wasn’t working. Half of that was his own fault, he knew. He couldn’t let go of the bad because it was all tangled in the good. He couldn’t remember his mother’s love without seeing her death. Couldn’t think of Padmé without her horror at what he had done. Was this what the Jedi referred to when they warned against attachments?

It would be easier if he had Obi-Wan to talk to, but that couldn’t happen. Obi-Wan could _never_ know what Anakin had done. That was the worst part of it. He couldn’t think of Obi-Wan without imagining his rejection, over and over. For the Tuskens, for his brush with the dark side, for his failure. For his love.

Anakin grabbed soap from the edge of the bath and started scrubbing at his lengthening hair. He knew he hadn’t been the first Padawan to fall in love with their Master, and he wouldn’t be the last. He had thought it would fade. That once he became a Knight, once their bond had lessened, his feelings for Obi-Wan would wither back to platonic comradeship.

The opposite had happened.

His mind wandered to the day that they had been assigned to protect the Senator for Naboo. There had been Padmé, beautiful as ever, and Anakin had tried to feel something, he really had; but there had been Obi-Wan. Standing by Anakin’s side as always, with that teasing little smile that creased the corners of his eyes. Obi-Wan Kenobi could outshine a sun, and Anakin was trapped in a decaying orbit, slowly drifting closer to fiery oblivion.

Anakin pushed his head back under the water. Soapsuds swirled around the plughole. Maybe some time away from Obi-Wan was what he needed. For both their sakes. They were still too close. If Anakin crashed and burned, he could not risk taking Obi-Wan down with him.

A prickle of rising hairs along his spine was all the warning he received.

Anakin whirled around, dodging the crimson blade coming towards his head. He slipped on the soap-slick granite and his legs flew out from under him. Burning agony lanced along the right side of his face as the tip of the blade landed a glancing blow.

Blinking through the cascading water, Anakin met the wild snarl of Asajj Ventress. She raised her hissing lightsaber again and Anakin lashed out instinctively, force-pushing her out of the bathroom.

He scrambled up, managing somehow not to slip again on the wooden floor as he followed Ventress into the hallway. Again she raised her blade; again, Anakin pushed her backwards. His lightsaber was still on his bed. If he could beat her back far enough, he could open the bedroom door and call it to his hand.

Ventress recovered her stance. Anakin readied himself to dodge or block with the force, but the expected strike never came. Instead Ventress turned and ran down the hall—away from Anakin, towards Obi-Wan. Anakin took off after her, heart pounding.

“Anakin!”

Anakin emerged into the sitting room. Ventress span at him from around the corner, as something else hurtled towards him from the left. He caught the object, and the force shifted.

Obi-Wan’s lightsaber.

Anakin turned it on, the blue blade extending in time for him to meet the red of Ventress’s.

“How sweet,” Ventress purred. “We’re using each other’s lightsabers, now.” Her lips contorted into an ugly smirk. “I didn’t realise that this was such a close relationship. I almost feel that I’m intruding.”

Anakin’s back bowed under the strain of their clashed blades. The force surged in him, angry and rabid, champing to help, but Anakin would not draw on it. She was playing him, and he would not be played. He would not give in to the dark, not again.

“You are intruding,” he said, teeth gritted with effort. “You turned up uninvited. That’s the very definition of an intruder.”

Ventress laughed at him, which was the opening he needed. He kicked out at her legs, knocking her off-balance just enough to allow him to step back and to the side, placing himself between her and Obi-Wan.

“I always thought that the Jedi were supposed to fight fair,” she said. A second blade appeared in her left hand. “Where is your honour?” She glanced pointedly down to his groin and then back up, eyes sparkling with mirth. “I’d ask after your dignity, but you don’t appear to have any.”

Anakin struck out at her with a cry. She parried his blade with both of her own, and Anakin found himself slipping into the rhythm of the duel. Djem So was as familiar as an old pair of boots, even with an unfamiliar lightsaber in his hand.

It wasn’t easy to fight with a lightsaber that wasn’t one’s own. Much of the weapon’s strength came from the tight bond between a Jedi and their kyber crystal. The use of spare weapons in their duels with Dooku undoubtedly contributed to Anakin and Obi-Wan’s failure to defeat him on Geonosis.

In this case, Anakin did not fear a repeat of past history. Obi-Wan’s lightsaber felt weightless in his hand, as if it belonged there. He could hear its crystal singing in the force, a different note to his own, almost a harmony. Fuelled by a glorious purpose to protect, Anakin drove Ventress back towards the windows.

“You are improving, Skywalker.” He hated the way his name sounded on her tongue. “I am impressed. Perhaps all you needed was a little motivation.” Her gaze flicked behind him, to where Obi-Wan still sat, helpless. Anakin aimed a blow at her shoulder. She blocked it with ease. “Now, now; let’s not get sloppy.”

Her blades twirled, and suddenly Anakin was the one on the retreat. He held on with all that he had, knowing that if he fell, Obi-Wan would too.

The arm of the sofa he had claimed earlier dug into the backs of his thighs. One blade came at him; he raised Obi-Wan’s lightsaber and blocked it. The second flashed at the edge of his vision and Anakin knew that it was over. He began to turn his head to the side, to seek out Obi-Wan’s face. Ventress’s cold fury would not be the last thing he would ever see.

The pressure on his prosthetic wrist vanished. Ventress hurtled across the room in a blur of crimson, smashing through the latched balcony doors, landing in a heap against the low stone wall.

Anakin’s head completed its movement. Obi-Wan sat exactly where Anakin had left him, arms extended, palms raised, expression bordering on murderous. A shock like static passed across Anakin’s bare skin. The force surrounding Obi-Wan churned with a fierce, hot-blooded rage that warmed Anakin as much as chilled him.

Noise from the balcony. Ventress had risen to her feet. Anakin stepped forward, left arm extended, the blade in his right pulled back. Ventress arranged her own blades in a defensive stance, looking between Anakin and Obi-Wan.

“Interesting.” She smiled, the planes of her pale face illuminated in red. “I think we ought to keep the two of you around a while longer. I would _love_ to see how this develops.” She powered off her lightsabers and fell into shadow. “Until we meet again, Skywalker; Kenobi.”

Asajj Ventress leapt backwards off the balcony and down into darkness.

Anakin ran outside, keeping Obi-Wan’s lightsaber ignited. He peered over the wall, squinting into the black, sensing nothing in the force and hearing only the waves crashing far below. He put his free hand on top of the wall, about to heave himself up and over the edge.

“Anakin, don’t you _dare_.”

Anakin turned off the lightsaber.

He returned to the sitting room, to Obi-Wan.

“I should go after her,” Anakin stated flatly.

“You can’t.” Heavy breathing was the only remnant of the anger Anakin had sensed, and already Obi-Wan was starting to regulate it. “She would most likely kill you, and then what would I do?”

The echo of his earlier plea was not lost on Anakin, whose resolve crumbled.

“Besides,” Obi-Wan added, “you are in no state to be running about in public.” He carefully averted his eyes, and Anakin remembered that he was entirely nude and dripping wet. Obi-Wan’s blush only deepened his own.

He swallowed. “Maybe I should...”

“Put some clothes on?” Obi-Wan’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Please do.”

Anakin was torn between his desire for modesty, his desire to confirm that Obi-Wan was alright, and his sudden and incredibly inconvenient _desire_.

Modesty won, out of necessity. Anakin fled to his bedroom, dropping Obi-Wan’s lightsaber next to his own on the bed, not bothering to dry himself before throwing on a clean set of robes. He picked up the two lightsabers and returned to Obi-Wan before he gave himself chance to think.

To an outside observer, it would appear that there had not been a duel minutes earlier, and certainly nothing about Obi-Wan’s outward disposition betrayed the role he had played in its conclusion.

Anakin tossed his lightsaber back to him. “Here.”

Obi-Wan caught it and examined the hilt, fingertips dancing over the grip. Anakin supressed a shiver as the enormity of the loan sank in. Lightsabers were a deeply personal thing; after all, a Jedi’s bond with their kyber crystal was the only true bond they were ever supposed to form. A kyber crystal was the reflection of its Jedi’s soul.

“Thank you,” Anakin said. He didn’t say, _you saved my life_. He didn’t say, _your trust means everything to me_ , or, _I don’t deserve it_.

Obi-Wan nodded shortly. He ran his fingers along the metal one last time and returned the lightsaber to his belt. “Get the med kit.”

Anakin frowned. “Why? Did you hurt yourself? Did she hurt you? Is it your leg?”

“No, Anakin.” Obi-Wan looked up at him, his mouth a thin line. “She hurt you.” He touched the skin above his right eye.

Anakin copied him and winced. He had forgotten the first strike, the burning, but now it returned as if called.

“I won’t force you to the infirmary,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin fell in love all over again. “Get the med kit and I’ll do what I can.”

Anakin nodded and retraced his steps, back down the hall to the bathroom. The water was still running. He shut it off. The silence hurt his ears. He retrieved the med kit from where they had stashed it beneath the sink, catching sight of himself in the fogged mirror. Condensation distorted his reflection, but Anakin could see the narrow carmine line that cut vertically over his eye.

He went back to Obi-Wan. The adrenaline of the fight was dissipating. Obi-Wan gestured to his right and Anakin gingerly perched on the sofa beside him.

“Give it to me,” Obi-Wan said. Anakin handed him the med kit, and Obi-Wan rifled through its depths. “Does it hurt?”

“A bit,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan did not look pleased, but made no comment.

Anakin had many questions about the duel. The lightsaber, Obi-Wan’s use of the force against Ventress in that way. He couldn’t ask them. He couldn’t invite Obi-Wan to start asking questions of his own.

There was one line of inquiry that Anakin could follow. “Do you think she’ll be back?”

“No.” Obi-Wan extricated two small bacta patches and put the rest of the kit on the table. “Not now, at least. Not here.”

There was no emotion in his words. Anakin didn’t ask how he could be so certain. “And if you’re wrong?”

The force flared with an aftershock of the quake that had thrown Ventress to the balcony. It snatched Anakin’s breath and then was gone.

“Then that will be her mistake,” Obi-Wan said calmly.

He put two fingers on Anakin’s chin to angle the wound towards him. The simple touch was hard to bear, and Anakin was relieved when Obi-Wan removed his hand to open the first bacta patch.

Being under Obi-Wan’s full and direct scrutiny was challenging. If Anakin had been thinking straight, he never would have allowed this. He would have applied the patches himself in front of the mirror. Clouds were gathering in his mind, the edges of the storm that haunted him. Obi-Wan was right there, and Anakin struggled to keep his thoughts away from the polarised hells of rejection and want.

“These patches are old,” Obi-Wan said, distracting Anakin from his application of the bacta patch to the top of the burn. “Where did you get the kit from?”

That, Anakin could answer. “It was in the shuttle.” His voice shook, but fixing it was beyond him. “I should have checked it before we left the Temple, but there wasn’t much time.”

Obi-Wan finished applying the first patch and moved on to the second. “I’m afraid that this will probably scar.” He sounded regretful, like he had been the one maimed. “They would be able to give you in-date bacta in the infirmary—”

“No,” Anakin interrupted, more harshly than he had intended. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Vanity was not one of Anakin’s many flaws. The prospect of another scar to add to the stump of his right arm and the relics of his childhood did not bother him. If anything, it was a positive. Every time he saw himself, he would be reminded of this night, and of his weakness; of how he came so close to losing everything. Obi-Wan needed Anakin to be stronger.

Obi-Wan stuck the second bacta patch to the tail end of the burn, beneath Anakin’s eye. “I have to say, I am perplexed by how Ventress managed to get in here.” He leaned closer, engrossed in his first aid work, and Anakin became incapable of coherent thought. All he knew was the hot breath on his face, the gentle fingers pressing the cooling bacta to his cheek. “I don’t mean logistically; this old palace is full of hidden nooks and passageways. No. How did she get past us? My senses were dulled somewhat by those painkillers, I’ll admit, but yours...”

Either he trailed off, or Anakin no longer heard.

This was on him. Anakin’s strength in the force was unprecedented. Nobody should have been able to evade his detection, much less sneak right up behind him, powerful dark side user or not. His head was a mess. That was the only explanation, that Anakin was so absorbed in himself, so intent on the maelstrom of his emotions, that gaping holes had opened in his awareness. _There is no emotion, there is peace._ Obi-Wan could have died, they both could have died, and it would all have been on Anakin. His fault. His failure.

He became conscious of hands cupping his face, but Obi-Wan may as well have been on Coruscant. The storm had been usurped. Anakin was adrift in empty space, untethered, watching Obi-Wan mouth words from behind a shrinking transparisteel viewport. He didn’t know how to reach him, or if he could, or if he even wanted to.

_There is no emotion, there is peace._

A spark in the force.

It was dim, but warm. It pulled at him with a weak magnetism that seemed so right, so natural.

Home.

Anakin latched onto it, and the world returned.

“Anakin.”

Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan calling to him. Obi-Wan’s hands on his face, Obi-Wan’s panicked eyes darting between his, Obi-Wan’s force signature surrounding him, the rope guiding him back.

“Anakin, come back to me. _Anakin_.”

He was upset. Anakin had failed him again.

Anakin tried to speak. Where words had deserted him, now they cascaded in a dizzying rush. Apologies. Reassurances. Confessions. Too much; always too much. All that came out of his mouth was a horrible keening whine.

“Anakin?”

A thumb stroking his unburnt cheekbone. A tenderness at odds with the wrecked voice.

The force swirled in abstract patterns, the storm returning, but there was a gap in the thunderclouds.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, breathless.

Obi-Wan’s arms encircled his torso and Anakin found himself crushed in a tight embrace. He grabbed onto Obi-Wan and curled into his lap, pressing his nose into the top of Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Sobs tore from his throat, an unstoppable deluge pouring from the burst cracks in Anakin’s mental dam.

It had always been too much. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. He didn’t want to.

Anakin didn’t want to be strong. He just wanted Obi-Wan to hold him. To make him feel safe, and protected, and loved, one last time. Just once.

One of Obi-Wan’s hands came up to support the back of Anakin’s head. “It’s alright, Anakin,” he said. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He held him. Obi-Wan held him, and Anakin cried.

Every time he felt that it was easing, another spasm of guilt or grief or loss overtook him. Every time he feared that he might drown, Obi-Wan anchored him.

Eventually he ran out of tears.

His throat was sore. His eyes stung. He no longer had the energy to cry. Obi-Wan was rubbing his back in soothing motions, matched in pace by the steady exhales brushing the shell of Anakin’s right ear.

There was a peace to it. Anakin did feel safe. He did feel protected. Distantly, he wondered how long it would last. The respite. The eye of the storm.

“I won’t ask if you’re alright,” Obi-Wan said quietly. The same words as earlier, but only now did Anakin understand. Not an omission to spare Anakin’s pride; an omission because the answer was never in question.

Anakin whimpered involuntarily. Obi-Wan saw right through him. If he could see this, what else was he privy to?

“You should talk to me.” Not an order. A polite request, a suggestion.

“I can’t,” Anakin croaked.

The hand on his back moved and squeezed his waist. “Why not?”

Obi-Wan was being so calm, so gentle.

“I just… I can’t.” Anakin sniffed. “I can’t. Please, Obi-Wan…”

“Alright.”

Obi-Wan’s fingers combed his damp hair. Anakin’s limbs began to relax. The moment seemed frozen in time, and Anakin did not want the chronometer to start moving. Obi-Wan wouldn’t let this go. The prospect of talking this through, acknowledging it, threatened to overwhelm him, so Anakin simply refused to think about it. He was nothing but a body in Obi-Wan’s arms, a bundle of nerve endings under Obi-Wan’s touch.

“Bed,” Obi-Wan said at last. Anakin tightened his grip. “It’s late. We both need to sleep.”

“I can’t leave you,” Anakin said.

“And I wouldn’t ask you to,” Obi-Wan assured him. “I’ll need your help to walk. Can you do that for me, Anakin?”

Obi-Wan needed him. Anakin could do that, he could help him.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Reluctantly, he shuffled backwards out of Obi-Wan’s lap. Obi-Wan’s hand slipped from his hair to his arm and stayed there. Anakin couldn’t look at him. He would only find pity or disgust, and he wasn’t sure which would hurt more.

Anakin lifted Obi-Wan’s leg off the table. Guilt ate at him for collapsing onto Obi-Wan when he was injured and in pain, but compared to everything else, it was mild.

He arranged Obi-Wan’s arm around his shoulders. “Lean on me.”

Obi-Wan did, though not as much as he had on the way back from the infirmary. Anakin hoisted him up and together they limped and staggered down the hall to Obi-Wan’s room. Obi-Wan opened the door with the force, and Anakin barely noticed. He helped him to the bed.

“Well done, Anakin,” Obi-Wan told him, reclining atop the covers. “Thank you.”

Mechanically, Anakin took one of the spare pillows from the head of the bed and slid it under Obi-Wan’s broken leg.

There. He had done what needed doing. He had helped Obi-Wan.

“Did you need anything else?” he asked, eyes trained on the tan bedspread.

“Yes.” Obi-Wan’s hand smoothed over the fabric on the bed next to him. “Come here.”

Numbly, Anakin walked around the bed and unclipped his lightsaber from his belt. He put it on the bedside table, lining it up at a perfect right angle. He sat down and turned to the side, removing Obi-Wan’s one boot and then stowing it neatly against the wall. Obi-Wan handed him his lightsaber and Anakin put it where it belonged, next to his own.

He lay down.

Obi-Wan pulled Anakin against him, and Anakin went willingly. He was past the point of thinking. Past the point of questioning, of mulling consequences. If Obi-Wan wanted to hold him, Anakin was past the point of self-preserving resistance.

He curled into Obi-Wan’s left side, drawing his real arm across Obi-Wan’s chest and tucking his face against his neck.

Obi-Wan held him by the waist. “Go to sleep. I’m here.”

Anakin closed his eyes.

The sweet press of lips to his hairline was nothing more than a dream.

“Sleep, dear one.”

Anakin obeyed.

* * *

Obi-Wan’s leg had started throbbing again, but there was little to be done about it. He was not a stranger to pain. He could tolerate it.

Sunlight radiated in through the bedroom window. Neither of them had thought to close the curtains the night before. Obi-Wan had had other things on his mind.

Anakin’s breath was hot against his neck, his body covering Obi-Wan’s like a blanket.

This should never have happened. Obi-Wan had vowed to himself that he would never let something like this happen. He would never let Anakin into his bed.

He knew that Anakin was in love with him. He had known for quite some time. He had put it down to the usual Padawan-Master crush, that Obi-Wan had thankfully never experienced with Qui-Gon; a hormonal obsession condemned to fade with age and Knighthood. Not worth worrying about, definitely not worth acknowledging. Obi-Wan had seen the look Anakin gave him in the arena on Geonosis, but had known that it would pass. So, too, would the new feelings growing in Obi-Wan’s breast, as war illuminated the man, the Jedi, that his old Padawan had become.

All that had passed were months. Here was Anakin, screaming his name from a clifftop, refusing to leave his side, watching him with something far greater and more dangerous than respect or admiration. And here was Obi-Wan. So desperate to protect Anakin, his Anakin, so attached, that when the force promised to turn his feelings into a weapon, he did not hesitate. Only once before had Obi-Wan sidestepped into the dark, and Maul’s fate had been the result. It was lucky that Anakin had been holding Obi-Wan’s lightsaber. Lucky for them all.

Obi-Wan realised that he had tightened his hold on Anakin, and slackened his muscles. Shame cast its shadow upon him. He had failed. Failed to teach Anakin about attachments. Failed to embody that lesson himself.

Evidence of his greatest failure lay sleeping in his embrace. In steadfastly keeping Anakin at arm’s length, scared of the temptation of acting on the love he knew would be reciprocated, Obi-Wan had failed him. He had seen Anakin’s concealed torment, sensed his devastation, heard him wake from relentless nightmares, and he had done _nothing_. The lie that Anakin would come to him if he needed help had been just that: a lie. Anakin did not ask for help. It wasn’t in his nature. And only last night, when it was so very clear that Anakin’s suffering had gone too far, that it was too late, had Obi-Wan issued the invitation.

The rhythm of Anakin’s breaths stuttered. Obi-Wan tried to clear his mind, to project an impregnable façade of calm. Anakin needed him.

Obi-Wan watched Anakin wake. The arm slung across him altered its position, sending heady sensations to Obi-Wan’s brain. Anakin hummed, turning his peaceful face to the light. Obi-Wan sensed the precise moment that he realised where he was, as his drowsy contentment mutated into fear and shame. Obi-Wan shared the emotions, but held his in check.

“Hello, Anakin,” he said softly.

Anakin stiffened and moved to pull away.

Obi-Wan was faced with a choice.

It was a terrible, impossible choice, and it had to be made in an instant. Something, maybe the force, maybe his subconscious, warned him that this moment would not come again. He had to choose, and he had to choose now.

He could let Anakin go. Pretend that the painkillers had muddled his thoughts, let Anakin fob him off with flimsy explanations and excuses. Carry on like the night before had never happened, allow an extra wedge of distance in their professional relationship, their friendship, and leave Anakin to weather the storm of his turmoil alone. _No emotion, only peace_. No attachments, only the Code.

Or he could hold on. Admit the things he should not admit. Say the things he should not say, accept the love he felt, the desire, the _passion_ , the base possessive yearning to protect and keep, and share it all with Anakin. Offer Anakin all that he was, all that he could give. Shelter him. Bind them with durasteel chains, an attachment that would never be broken.

There was no middle ground. This was Anakin; it was all or nothing.

This was Anakin.

Obi-Wan made his choice.

As Anakin pulled away, Obi-Wan tugged him back. He held on.

Anakin held himself rigid, even as Obi-Wan rubbed his side, fingers sliding to grasp his hip. “Obi-Wan, what are you—”

“I love you.”

Anakin went entirely still. “Don’t.”

His feelings betrayed him. In the force, they screamed. Despair and agony and terror; disbelief and longing and need. Obi-Wan listened. Obi-Wan held on.

He kissed Anakin’s forehead, hating the tears that welled in those beautiful blue eyes, but knowing that they needed to fall. “I love you, Anakin.”

Fall, they did. “Obi-Wan…”

“I love you,” he repeated. “I’m sorry.”

Confusion graced Anakin’s face, creasing the bacta patches. “I don’t… Why are you apologising? It should be me, I should be the one; I should be stronger—”

“No,” Obi-Wan said, firm but gentle. “I failed you. I should not have fallen in love with you.” He put Anakin’s small gasp aside. “I should not have pushed you away when I realised that I had. I should have protected you better, taught you better. I should have been there for you.”

“You’ve always been there for me,” Anakin whispered. “It was—I was the one who stayed away; but Obi-Wan… I don’t…”

Obi-Wan wiped a tear from Anakin’s cheek with his thumb. When more replaced it, he guided Anakin’s face back against his neck. “Hush, dear one. You don’t need to explain anything to me. There will be a time for talking, but that time does not need to be now.” There would be a lot to unravel, a lot to work through. Anakin was not ready for that. “Collect yourself. Collect your thoughts. I will wait. However long it takes, I will be here.”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin said, voice watery and muffled, “I need to tell you—”

“I know you love me,” Obi-Wan said. His heart fluttered at the answering swell in the force around Anakin. “That is all I need to know for now. Nothing else.” He tilted his head and pressed his lips to Anakin’s hair. He could smell his own soap on the strands tickling his nose.

This was the right choice. Maybe not for a Jedi, for two powerful force users in a galactic civil war, but it was the right choice for them. The right choice for Anakin. Anakin needed Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan would be there. There was nowhere he would rather be.

Perhaps it was because of Anakin’s breakdown the night before, or perhaps the feelings Obi-Wan knew he was projecting in the force were having an effect on him. Regardless of the reason, Anakin did not cry for long. Obi-Wan showered him with mindless, simple touches, to comfort and reassure himself as much as Anakin.

He was prepared for what Anakin would say when he finally spoke, but it still sent waves of warmth through his being.

“I love you.” Quiet, but heartfelt. Hesitant, but unwavering.

Obi-Wan blinked slowly, savouring the effect that three words of Basic could have on him. Never had he felt like this. Satine, for whom he would have left the Order, had not done this to him.

Only Anakin.

“I love you too,” he murmured.

He hoped that the tiny, fleeting smile he thought he could feel against the skin of his neck was not just wishful thinking.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin said, his voice louder but still painfully weak.

Obi-Wan reached for his hand, cradling it in his palm. Anakin’s fingers closed over his thumb. “Yes, my darling?”

Anakin’s shuddering exhale pierced him with needles. “I’m not okay,” he admitted.

Fresh droplets dripped onto Obi-Wan’s skin, and he released Anakin’s hand to bring both arms around him. “I know,” he said. “I know.”

“I should be stronger,” Anakin sobbed.

“Oh, Anakin.” Obi-Wan massaged his back, heart full but breaking. If only there was an easy way to make this right. If only there was some simple thing that he could do or say to take away Anakin’s pain. “You are strong. You are so incredibly strong, and I could not be more proud of you.”

“It’s not true,” Anakin protested.

“It is. It is, dear one.” Another kiss to Anakin’s hair. “In time, you will see that. This will pass. These feelings, this grief you think will suffocate you; it all will pass. It will fade. You can endure this, Anakin. You can make it through.”

“It’s hard,” Anakin whined.

“I know,” Obi-Wan said. “But it will get easier. I promise you.”

Another bedroom came to mind. Another young Knight, lost and afraid. A youngling, his charge; resented, a burden. Yet in his presence, the pain was easier to bear.

“You are not alone, Anakin,” Obi-Wan told him. “You will never be alone.”

There would be consequences, Obi-Wan knew. A price to pay for this, for love, for comfort. For truth. All that Obi-Wan could do was ensure that Anakin would never pay it alone. He was in love with Anakin Skywalker, a feeling that transcended attachments and Codes, and Anakin Skywalker was in love with him, with all he had—he could sense it, feel it. That mattered. It mattered.

They had passed the point of no return, probably a long time ago. Certainly before that morning. To all intents and purposes, they were one. Where Anakin went, Obi-Wan would follow. If the path was difficult, he would offer his hand. If dusk descended, he would shine a light.

He was Obi-Wan Kenobi, and this was Anakin Skywalker. No longer his Padawan, but still his destiny. His purpose. His heart. His Anakin.

Obi-Wan held on to Anakin, and Anakin to him, and the sun beyond the palace rose higher.

The storm would pass.

**Author's Note:**

> George Lucas: Anakin got his scar from slipping in the bath lol idk  
> Pre-Disney canon: it was an epic fight with Ventress!  
> My brain: what if... both? :) :)
> 
> When I first had this idea, it was going to be funny. Then this happened. I can only apologise.
> 
> If you need more feelings, do check out the song "Silent Storm" by Carl Espen. It only came on shuffle after I'd finished the fic, but it's great, short (unlike this fic...), and spookily appropriate.


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